Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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THE GOLDEFT-ROD. Suddenly I awoke, and found myself gazing at an open Cicero upside- down. The fire had gone out, and the room was damp and cold. The rain was coming down in torrents. I then decided to go down stairs, and tried to study some, as I had wasted most of the afternoon. I thought of the test the next day, and trembled, while thinking of it.— Helen H. Gavin, ’96. THE ENCHANTRESS'S ISLE. Circe’s isle ! O horrors’ land ! Ye nymphs, ye fates, immortal gods, Are prayers of Ilium’s sons in vain, Has altars’ blaze ne’er hailed your name ? Why need you gather night shade dire To brighten Circe’s magic fire ? Whose deadly breath has blown us here ? What wicked deed had we to fear That we should sate a ruthless seer, A sorceress’s vile desire ? Why doom, O gods, our souls on earth To Hades’ savage beast, Why feed a witches’ cruel mirth With human bodies’ feast ? O wicked fates ! O cruel gods ! That Troja’s life-thread so should end, That heaven’s will we ne’er could bend— Fierce Juno’s wrath has ever raged, And everlasting war is waged, Against a race whose well won praise Is subject fit for heavenly lays. —C. J. A., ’96. JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. To read intelligently the works of this eminent author, the true scholar of American literature; one must possess both an extensive vocabulary and the power of concen- tration of thought. There are some books which one may “ skim ” and get the cream of the story, but Lowell’s are not among these, for unless one enters earnestly into the spirit of the author, omitting nothing, the result will be far from satisfactory. What a broad scope his mind has ! From discussing the minutest detail concerning a bird, it passes to poli- tics, examining in classic language, well strewn with references, the character of Abraham Lincoln. His thoughts are so deep and so diversified that at times in begin- ning one of his master sentences, one looks in vain for a predicate and finally after winding through a laby- rinth of thoughts, he finds it sur- rounded by a strong garrison of figures of speech. Read Lowell’s poem “ The First Snowfall ” which contains such sweet simplicity, of pathos, then take up his essay on Milton and you will have an excellent illustration of the wide range of his mind. As an authority on ornithology Lowell is often consulted, as a critic he stands unrivalled; as a states- man and patriot his name shall live memoria in ceterna of all loyal Americans.—Catherine E. Healy, ’97. MY FIRST EXPERIENCE WITH AN INDIAN It was during the early autumn of the first year I lived “ out west.” The Indians, or “ Siwashes,” were, I had been told, perfectly peaceful and harmless, and I afterward found out that it was a common enough thing to have them come selling clams, or wild blackberries, or more frequently begging at the door. I had just got home from school; my mother was away, and my sister had not yet got home. I was busily studying algebra, when I heard the back door-knob rattle violently j supposing it to be my mother or sister I went at once and opened the door. Perhaps my surprise can

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THE GOLDEN-ROD. great middle class.” He attended Williams and Knox Colleges and also the University of Missouri, and after finishing his education wrote for many periodicals, holding promi- nent positions on the4editorial staffs of leading western papers. Mr. Field was less widely known as a newspaper man than as a writer of charming, dainty verse and enter- taining stories especially relating to child life. He was often associated in his literary labors with James Whitcomb Riley, and also with Edgar Wilson Nye, familiarly known as Bill ” Nye, author of comic sketches. “ Sharps and Flats ” was written in defense of Mr. Nye, upon whom some aspersion had been cast. Some of Mr. Field’s best known works are “ Culture’s Garland,” Little Book of Western Verse,” Second Book of Verse,” With Trumpet and Drum,” and “ Echoes From a Sabine Farm.” His last poem of any note was “ Dream Ships,” particularly pleasing because of its weirdness and airy grace. R. Latin ’97 — Buskins or buck- skins.—Which ? What remarkably free transla- tions of the old Marquis’s oaths are given in the French class! One young lady excited the risibles of the whole class by exclaiming in a very energetic manner, But, for goodness sakes! madame the baro- ness, what do you want me to do?” Mediisque parant convivia tectis. (They prepare a feast in the midst of the palace.) Translation—They prepare a feast in the midst of the roof. I itefkfy rl)epWtn er t. Edited by Maude Cummings, ’96. Chas. J. Anderson, ’96. BEFORE A WOOD FIRE. The afternoon was damp and cloudy, and I did not wish to go out. So I took my Cicero and my Latin Grammar, and went up to my room, where I knew that I should be quiet. I wished to be especially quiet, as there was going to be a test in Latin the next day. I sat down near the open fire, and began to study very hard. I had been seated but a short time, when I heard a rap at the door. I said, Come in,” in a rather weary voice. When the door opened, to my surprise I saw an old Roman citizen walk in. I was amazed, to say the least. I asked him who he was. He answered in a very deep tone, “ I am Marcus Tullius Cicero.” What are you doing here, at this time ?” I asked him. Oh,” he said, I just came to make a call on you.” He then asked me what book I was reading, I told him Cicero’s orations.” I asked him if he re- membered delivering these orations. Ah,” he said, indeed, I remem- ber it well.” Can you repeat any of them now ?” I said. He an- swered that he thought he could. Then suddenly I heard a queer noise, and a troop of Roman senators came in at the open door. My room, where we had been sitting before, suddenly underwent a change, and I was in the senate-chamber in the Forum. Catiline was there and all the rest. Cicero began, Quo usque tandem, abutere Catilina, patientia nostra ? Quam etiam furor iste eludet ? Quam adfinem sese effrediuf

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THE GOLDEN-ROD. better be imagined than told, when, instead of seeing a familiar face, I beheld a peculiar specimen of humanity. What I saw looked like a great bundle of clothes, or rags, more properly, surmounted by a felt , hat, originally gray, but now ja nonde- script dirt color. Out from under this peered a dark face surrounded by a mass of coal-black hair. I was so surprised and frightened, that my first impulse was to lock the door and run. But the “Si- wash ” took a step forward, as if he would come into the house, at the same time uttering a word as near as I could make out was “ Ky-ams ?” (clams). “ No, sir; no,” I said, “ we don’t like them.” Evidently he did not understand me, for again he ejacu- lated, “ Ky-ams ?” “No !” I said again at the same time shaking my head to enforce my refusal. Then he said,—“Ask yer mar-mar ?” What was I to do ? Plainly, he would stay there the rest of the afternoon, if I did not adopt some means to get rid of him. So I called back into the house, “ Do you want any clams today ?” Then pretending I heard an answer in the negative, I said to the “Siwash.” “No, she doesn’t want any.” With that he had to be satisfied, and after saying “Goo-by,” wad- dled contentedly away, while I shut the door amid conflicting emotions. F. M., ’96. THE NEW WOMAN What a picture rises before my mind’s eye at the mention of that name ! It is like the figures which sometimes appear in a nightmare. Now, I see her from the heights of her education and so-called refine- ment, like an avenging Fury glower- ing at poor Humanity, Now, like an awful Harpy, she pounces upon some young man and carries him away as her prey. And now, she speeds along the dusty roads, her big sleeves and bloomers flapping in the breeze. Poor creature, exposed to the ridi- cule and laughter of all, jeered and scoffed at by all, discussed and criticised by all! Still, this woman has her good qualities, although people seldom recognize them. I do not advocate the new woman in every detail. I do not uphold her in dressing her- self in that most immodest and con- spicuous fashion, now becoming so familiar in all our cities. I do not approve of her masculine manners, loud voice, bold gait, and sharp temper. Still, I do maintain that it is every woman’s right to have an opinion on any subject whatever, and every woman’s duty to form that opinion for herself, and not allow it to be moulded and fashioned by any father, brother or husband. So far as the new woman does this, I believe she is right. But, when she undertakes exclusively to manage the politics of the country; when she tries to assume masculine costumes and habits, when she casts away all womanly graces, then she mistakes her desires for her duty. If unmarried, the new woman lives and moves only in a circle of kindred spirits; and at length, a solitary spinster, shrewish, and hated by all who do not pity her, she comes to her lonely death. No true friends or loved relatives